In Complete Confidence
by Greenladie
Summary: After the war with Tusaine everything is going wrong for Roger. Consumed by his frustration, Roger takes an afternoon to confess his insecurities to his most trusted confidant... himself. Oneshot.


**In Complete Confidence**

Roger, the Duke of Conte, took a swift look around his chambers to make sure they were empty. On this brilliant afternoon everyone in the palace was out and about so there was really no reason to worry, but Roger was a careful man. Crossing the room in three great strides, Roger swept into his secret study shutting the doors firmly behind him.

The air of uneasiness did not leave him in the silence of his magically warded study. Cautiously the Duke looked around the entire room, checking under tables and inside cabinets, despite the fact that no normal human being could possibly fit inside them. Once he had looked over every inch of the room Roger allowed himself to collapse into a rather fluffy chair. The chair stood on a slightly raised pedestal facing a wall that was entirely blank except for what appeared to be a picture frame covered in a piece of rich purple velvet. After a minute or so, Roger stood and removed the cloth to reveal an extremely elaborate mirror. It was large, the frame made of solid gold and encrusted with a rainbow of precious stone. Roger smiled in spite of himself. Or really, because of himself.

It had been a week since he had been able to confer with his most trusted confidant, and frankly he had some complaining to do.

"Hello, Roger." Said the Duke to his reflection. "Oh I can't possibly tell you how happy I am to see you."

"Well of course you are, Roger dear," The Duke replied to himself, "all those pesky minions running around, mucking up your beautifully laid out plans…"

Roger sighed heavily and sat down heavily in his chair. "You know Roger, I haven't been able to have a good long conversation with you in nearly a week. You are looking a bit peaky." He raised one eyebrow and made a few exaggerated expressions, testing the flexibility of his facial muscles, and then half-heartedly slapped himself across the cheek.

"You're right, I am looking a bit down. Perhaps I should ask Baird for some of that anti-aging lotion he's been experimenting with. Deny it all he wants, but I know he's been selling it to some of the older ladies at court. And at ridiculously high prices." The Duke smirked to himself. "I wouldn't have thought the man had a dastardly bone in his body. But just the other day I caught Imrah of Legann's wife trying to buy some off of him. And he sold it to her for five gold nobles! Can you believe it? Five gold nobles for a tiny pot of anti-aging lotion!"

"Is it any good?"

Roger waved a hand at his reflection. "Of course it is. Everything Baird makes is brilliant. I am a little shocked at his capacity for dishonesty. He shows great promise. Ah well, perhaps I'll rethink killing him when I become king." He sat in silence for a few moments, twisting his rings, his brow furrowed with concentration.

"What exactly did you want to talk to me about so badly?" He asked irritably of himself.

Roger slumped in his chair. "Well, you see, it's that Alan boy again. Remember when I was going to have the Tusaines kidnap and kill him?"

"Yes."

The Duke sighed, "Well, that idiot cousin of mine actually committed treason to go over to the other camp _and save him_." He gasped at the thought.

"I know!" he cried, pounding his fists into the gilt arms of the chair. "It was fool proof! Only apparently my cousin is even more dim-witted than I thought. Honestly, the way he goes on about that squire of his you'd think he was in love with him." Roger watched his reflection chuckle at the thought.

"What a thought! A man of the Conte line fancying his own squire! Oh the hilarity of it all!"

Roger stopped laughing abruptly, all traces of amusement gone, replaced by a look of worry. "But the boy, Alan," he nearly spit out the name, "he worries me. There is just something about him that isn't natural. Or at least not entirely natural."

"Perhaps he is aided by the Gods?" he pondered, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

"Is that all you were worrying about?" he asked himself, voice layer with sweetness. "Well then there is nothing to worry about. Nothing at all."

"But there is!" he cried out, almost in a whine. "He always foils my plans! Or somebody else does!"

"What happened to waiting for the right moment? Remember Roger, we can afford to wait for them all to die."

"Ugh, but I'm not that patient! I have waited years and years for this. And now I have been set back even further. At this point the Realms of the Dark God will freeze over before I am made King of Tortal!"

The Duke reached out a hand and stroked the mirror, cooing softly to his own image. "There, there, Roger. Do not worry so. It is not your fault. It is the fault of that dreadful Alan and your idiot cousins Jon and Gary. At least you have Alex to help you."

Roger rolled his eyes. "Alex is alright, I suppose, but I would much rather have you to help me. Wouldn't it be so much better if I could be in two or three places at once? Then I could get all of this done myself. Or better yet, if I had another me, only I was a she, so I could marry myself. Then I wouldn't have to put up with all these ignorant wenches like Delia. If only everyone were as smart as me, then everything would go according to my plans! Only, maybe not quite so smart as me. I would still have to be slightly smarter, otherwise I wouldn't be able to rule them all and make them bend to my will…"

He continued to stroke the mirror, touching the reflection of his dark hair, even kissing it once.

A noise came from the other room, startling the Duke out of his self-soothing. The voice of Alexander of Tirragen, his former squire, drifted through the heavy door. "Roger, please come out of there. People will think you are up to something if you stay in that top secret study of yours all day."

Muttering angrily under his breath, Roger covered the mirror and threw open the door, appearing at once imposing and irritable. He strode past Alex to the sitting area of his chambers, carelessly waving a hand over his shoulder at the door, which magically banged shut behind him.

"Having another schizophrenic moment?" inquired Alex, a smirk playing across his face.

Roger sat down on his small, fluffy, blue sofa with a flourish, and then propped his feet up so that there was no more room on the love seat. "We refuse to answer such a ridiculous question."

** FIN **


End file.
